Raw Goods

The Rove Sestina

I see a man
with blood on his hands
who decided to retire early;
he called for his pipe
and he called for his bowl
and he called for his massacres three.

His decades with Bush were three,
and his staff swore, to the last man,
that the Tigris would be like a salad bowl
into which they could dip their hands
and pour crude oil down the pipe,
quick enough to leave for lunch early.

But did they vacation too early?
It wasn't until day three
after Katrina burst the pipes
that Turd-Blossom's man
stuck his lily-white hands
into the Mississippi blood-bowl.

No, they didn't always win at the Health Care Bowl,
as any debater could prove, bright and early;
once they put the vets into Walter Reed's hands,
you could say the old soldiers had only three
chances to walk, again a healthy man,
one who could pay for crutches, and not use pipes.

Of course, loyal Bushies would'nt use lead pipes
to question suspects in Guantanamo's bowl,
where cells, pens, and cages divide man from man;
instead, they declare sleep after three days too early
and the number of people who see your evidence is three
and you're not one of them: Rove kept secrets out of your hands.

Will we ever know what records have passed through his hands?
Who can tell which taps he put on whose telephone pipes?
As California knows, it doesn't take much to ring up Three
Strikes: you might as well pull your charges out of a bowl.
Tried as a criminal? Or prisoner of war? Don't speak up early:
if you want to be both, ask Jose Padilla - he's your man.

Gonzalez's best man: let's give him a hand.
It's hardly too early to strike up the pipes:
send him down Dante's bowl: he belongs on level three.

posted by judy j @ 6:32 PM